What Katy Did (Poetry)

Down the block and round the corner,
skipping like some tame gazelle,
bobby-soxed and lolly-licking,
came a blonde, pubescent belle —
tight t-shirted, micro-skirted,
tempting with her schoolgirl smell.

Loitering outside a café,
local boys observed her show
as she pouted past their plaudits,
haunches swaying to and fro —
breast-buds jutting, long legs strutting,
cruising — no set place to go.

She heard their ribald innuendoes,
tossed her hair, stared hard and straight,
ignored the unkind names they called her —
“Juicy Lucy”, “Jail-bait-Kate” —
flippant, flirty, talking dirty —
sensed their streetwise slang translate...

Some were rough and some were gentle,
some were mean and others kind —
gave her something like affection,
stroked her body, soothed her mind —
held her closely, silent mostly —
left her lonely and resigned.

Small-town tongues that relished gossip —
righteous in their prim dismay,
warned their sons against “lolitas” —
labelled her an “easy lay” —
cold as fury, judge and jury,
drove the wicked slut away.

Good-time-girls were two-a-penny
in the city where she hid,
trading firm young flesh for comfort,
selling sex for thirty quid —
needing kisses, love dismisses
blame for all that Katy did.